


Blood Ties

by CircusBones



Series: Borrowed Things [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Family Drama, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kidfic, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircusBones/pseuds/CircusBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan and Darcy think that their lives as involved, awesome superheroes who are also parents are going very well. Ghosts from Wolverine's past are persistent, however, and some are hell-bent on destroying all that he holds dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Usual things apply! None of this world is mine, I only play around in what Stan Lee has given me. As always, while this is MCU-centric, I pick and choose what I keep and discard from X-Men film canon (No emo-Rogue, no decimation of Deadpool, Storm has awesome wigs, X3 never happened, etc.) and replace with comic canon. So while MCU may be stuck to closely regarding the Avengers, rest assured, I go to both comics and movies equally for the X-Men. That said...ONWARD!

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The forge is thoroughly cold, and thoroughly inactive for the very first time in his imperfect memory. It had been -cool- in the past, of course, but stone cold, with nary an old coal to crumble? The young-looking man pressed his palm to the metal, hard, his brow creasing with confusion. “Daisuke?” He calls toward the house, but there is no answer, as there hasn't been for an hour. The young man sighs, his lean, muscular, tattooed frame moving, shifting.

He settles himself on the front step, thinking. Daisuke would be very old now, of course, but the property looked as if it had been very recently attended to, the grass trimmed, the windows clean. Perhaps the old sword-maker was simply staying in Sapporo city for a while, resting his old bones, visiting with his many grandchildren. 

He decides to wait. The busy season will begin soon, tourists wanting Japanese steel along with their ice and snow. His friend will be back, the young man is very sure...

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Erik Lehnsherr had been living a low, quiet life for the past couple of years. Keeping to his home, his lairs, and simply watching.

Though he knew very well that there was one person whose radar he'd never really be off of, being under everyone else' behooved him for the time being. The peace and quiet had been rather nice as well. Leaning back in his recliner and watching the television, as the world nearly ended more than a few times without his help whatsoever, was incredibly freeing. For a while, anyway.

A man had to get back to his great work eventually of course, even a man of his age.

There were new forces to consider now, however, and those had extended his vacation from meddling in the world's problems. There weren't only Charles' pets to contend with now, there were The Avengers, and various other groups and...unique individuals, who sported moral codes inconveniently opposed to his own. For the most part, anyway...he'd yet to make up his mind about what to do with Wade.

Not that Erik had any pressing plans for the world at the moment. Vengeance was more chilled in his veins these days, though the battle against intolerance was still bright in his mind. He needed more soldiers for that battle, though. The impulsive youth were always available, and he did have tendrils feeling about on that front, hoping to get to certain individuals before Charles and his invitations to a nice, safe mutant school did.

They needed seasoned fighters as well, though. The toughened, the experienced, and the killers, if need be. Those were getting harder and harder to find these days, which was why Erik had been turning his gaze to eastern Europe, where old bunkers, assassin networks, and deeply hidden Mutant testing facilities were falling apart every other day. Ever since Winter Soldier had been found and restored, Captain America had been pushing SHIELD to dig up the relics, and with things getting hot, many facility heads had decided to cut their losses and run, leaving their subjects to find their own way.

And Erik watched, and found himself a few extremely interesting individuals to tail.

“There's always Victor, you know,” Raven reminds him presently, setting his tea on his desk. Erik's eyes don't leave his screen, the photo sent to him by a contact in Japan dominating his view. An interesting individual, one he's been tracking since he'd left a facility outside Moscow with only a backpack and light jacket. Japanese, by the looks of him, or perhaps only partly so, there is something naggingly Anglo-Saxon about his jawline and ears. “He's locked up tight, sure, but it's not as if I haven't busted my gentlemen out of tighter places.” Raven goes on, smirking, he can feel it.

He plucks up his cup carefully, lofting a brow toward the image of the young man sitting on the front step of an old, very traditional Japanese home. “Victor has his perks, and no doubt. However,” At this, he frowns, annoyed at a memory or three regarding the animalistic mutant, “He is about as predictable as Loki, the god of mischief himself, and far less intelligent. No, if I can grow my numbers with more quality people...oh, damn,” He whispers, softly, eyes narrowing on the photo again. To Raven's questioning brow, he replies, softly, “I know where I have seen this house before.”

He flips through his folders, mumbling about new-fangeled technology even as he easily pulls another photograph up on the screen. At his side, Raven lets out a ladylike noise of confusion, but Erik finds himself grinning from ear to ear, pieces falling into place in his mind as he looks on the picture taken earlier that year, of Wolverine outside that very same house outside of Sapporo, Japan, working with hammer and anvil.

“I thought that boy's profile had a familiar angle to it. Oh Logan, you've certainly been sowing your share of wild oats, haven't you?...”

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“You've got crawlers coming down on 5th!” Agent Lewis shouted into her com, pausing behind a tumbled car to slam a new clip into her glock. Above her head, the sun was blocked out by their villain du jour's ginormous doom device, which was currently raining seemingly endless hordes of genetically enhanced human clone soldiers down on Washington DC.

But they were handling it. No, really. 

“Roger that,” Sitwell's voice replied, and a shouted order followed in her ear, along with the twang of Barton's bow, “Lewis, what's your six?”

“Agents Green, Halsted and I are covering Cap on Penn Ave, where's my lug?” She asked, just before popping up to send a bullet into the soldier charging toward Steve, who was very involved with the three drones already engaging him.

“On my way up to the death trap, darlin',” Logan replies this time, the background roar of wind and Iron Man's propulsion systems making her grin, despite the firefight she was in the middle of.

“You're Lois Lane-ing on Tony, aren't you?” 

“Was either me or Point Break,” It's Stark who answers this time, “And I think having a few inches of metal between the two of us made the choice for him. Keeps his masculinity intact...”

“I could stab you through your armor, bub.”

“Okay kids, play nice and get that ship plummeting to the earth,” Coulson cuts in, making Darcy laugh even as she's firing off shots, blood clouding her vision, “Preferably over the water. The Lawn if you must.”

“God knows we can't afford owing another city millions in repairs,” Darcy grinds out, as a fresh swarm of the far too fast, far too strong soldiers starts to engulf Steve. They're not very bright, which is to their sides' favor, but damnit, there's a lot of them, and numbers can mean a lot, “We need backup, Cap's getting swarmed!” She shouts into the com, before leaving the safety of her mini-van barricade in favor of charging down the street, both guns drawn now, picking off soldiers trying to smash in Steve's head.

If you'd told the rolling stone named Darcy Lewis of two years ago, that this would be her life someday, leading a pack of agents into a firefight to cover Captain America's back-side, she'd have asked what drugs you were on and if she could please have some. At this point, it has been her reality for months now, and while she's no Natasha Romanov or Phil Coulson, she's earning her stripes. Even so, when aforementioned Russian assassin joins them in the fray, Agent Lewis breathes much easier.

Or as easy as one can breathe, in deeply-dented kevlar. 

“They need to get that ship down,” Cap huffs, taking a breather in the midst of a ring of bodies, with still more approaching, “Or these bastards will just keep coming....”

“They've got Logan's claws, Thor's lightening, and Tony's sass up there,” Darcy reminds him, taking a labored breath herself, before mowing down a few more clones approaching along the street, “They'll have that thing wrecked in no t--...”

She was interrupted by the screeching of metal on metal, the groan of engines failing, just before the platform went smoking out of the sun, slanting toward the ocean. Around them, baddies dropped their guns and ran for it, and Darcy felt herself grinning wide.

“Aaaand another one for a the good guys...”

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Logan finds her just outside of the carnage, laughing as she leaps for him, wrapping arms and legs around him, kissing him soundly. Around them, the city is a mess and there are bodies to be cleaned up, and he's got some nasty wounds healing over. All these things, however, they're used to by now, and disregard them in favor of gripping at worn jean, ripped shirts, sweaty, salty skin.

“Damnit, darlin',” He laughs, setting her down and shamelessly pulling open her shirt, popping buttons and gaping at the dented, so-called bullet-proof vest underneath, “Fuck, thought I felt a few dents...”

“Leeloo died bravely,” Darcy sighs, tossing aside the riddled kevlar ruefully. To her utmost delight, Logan busts out laughing again, tugging her back and nuzzling her hair.

“S'ridiculous, that you name yer body armor after fictional women.”

“Hey, these ladies are protecting me from some serious evil powers, naming them after badass women is good juju,” Darcy purrs, petting his mutton chops as, over her shoulder, they spot Thor carting off a cuffed, whining super-scientist villain.

“So you say, gorgeous,” Logan murmurs, kissing her again, hands sliding along curves and making present junior agents wince. “...S'blow this joint, yeah?”

“I've got reports to make,” Darcy reminds him, primly, giving him a saucy smirk as she steps back, wiggling a little, “Don't worry, though. Five minutes, andn we'll be in the nearest dark alcove, promise,”

“Gah, Agent Lewis...” Agent Green groans, but Darcy just laughs, running off Phil's way, all the energetic, bustling kid Logan knows and loves. He watches her for a space, goofy grin firmly in place, before rummaging in his pocket for his ancient Nokia, punching one number and getting the Mansion, just to check in and make sure his progeny is all right.

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Life certainly seems all good, he thinks, as James' gurgling fills his ears...which means it's just about the time to start getting paranoid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a broken record sometimes, but I'm always getting the same questions, so! Comic canon = warped into MCU canon by my, admittedly, less than perfect head. 
> 
> Also, sexytimes.

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Alarms will ring for eternity  
The waves will break every chain on me…

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Darcy is fairly certain she will never cease her thorough appreciation of the man she's engaged to. He's built like a statue and is almost as firm, but he's also so very warm and very, very alive under her palms, and never so much so as when they've both just survived a fight. He's parched for her life. She knows he'll never stop worrying about her, but Logan's learned his lesson about trying to stop her by now. Just like she's learned to be smarter about the risks she takes. After all, Wolverine will always come home alive, but their son can still be left motherless if she's not careful...

Logan tells her only with his hands now, his arms and his lips, about how she scares him, how grateful he is that she's alive, and then how fucking in awe he is of her these days. He clutches her closer, and just a little too tightly, gripping her hips, her hair, kissing her like a man drowning until the tension he's been hiding eases from his frame. Darcy grins against his mouth, hands sliding over his thick shoulders, peeling off his bloody t-shirt and tossing it to the floor. The wounds that bled hours ago are replaced with smooth skin, still stained and salty under her fingers.

“Let's hose you off, big guy,” She whispers in his ear, grinning and biting him there gently. Logan gives her a playful growl in return, not needing to be told twice before he picks her up, and she's laughing as he carries her to their bathroom over his shoulder. 

He can only hold himself back for so long, letting her scrub him clean in the shower. Darcy can tell by that cocky grin, that he knows how much she loves getting her hands all over him, sliding suds and all. The water runs off red, and then clear, and then he's lifting her up on one arm, propping her up against the shower wall. She whimpers once, wincing, and that's when he notices the bruises her vest has left on her ribs, over her breasts. 

“Sorry, darlin',” He murmurs, shifting a little under the spray. This was not a new problem of course, and by now he knows how to hold her more gently, brushing kisses over her purple marks before pressing into her, the groan leaving his raw and aching throat. Darcy wraps her legs around his waist, grinning, gasping, ducking her head to ravage the wet skin of his throat as he thrusts up into her. 

It'll forever leave her stunned on some level, that this man is all hers. That she can dissolve the baddest, roughest lug in the bunch with her arms and her mouth and her rolling hips, until he's got her shouting to the ceilings, until she's go him gasping and falling to pieces against her embrace.

Afterward, Darcy slides down along his frame, relishing it all the way, wrapping her arms around his neck as he kisses her again, slowly now, purposefully. “Survived another day.” She smiles, ruefully poking the quickly-fading bruises she'd left on his neck. He gives her a smirk, flicking off the tap and grabbing a big fluffy towel, practically engulfing her petite frame in it.

“Thank god...or Odin, who-the-fuck-ever,” Logan murmurs, kissing her across the tops of her cheekbones, feather-light and somehow more breathlessly affectionate than their rougher intimacies. She shuts her eyes for a moment, absorbing the feeling, before shaking herself, toweling herself off with vigor, and then snapping her towel at his ridiculously firm ass when she's done, “Ow. Really though, you were great out there today, kiddo.”

“Why thank you, not so bad yourself, what with the whole wrecking bad guy tech with the claws and whatnot,” Darcy smirks, brushing her fingers through her wet hair, untangling the long wet waves, and Logan chuckles.

“Best at what I do, and all,” He gets in one last good grope before she's yanking on her sweats and a tank top, standing on her toes to kiss his chin. “...Y'make me feel taller, yanno.”

“Your undying devotion makes so much more sense now,” She teases, grinning, backing out of the bathroom just as a wail starts up from the other side of their suite. Darcy sighs, yet her smile is firmly in place as she moves across the thick carpet. It's hard to hate on the loud, insistent affirmation of life. In the adjoining room beyond theirs someone has just woken from their nap, and she rests her elbows on the crib, giving James a pointed look. “Your timing's getting better, at least.”

“We've had some man-to-man talks lately,” Logan informs her, moving around Darcy to pluck up his son himself. She bites her lip, grinning behind him as her carries the baby into their room. Badass though he is, Wolverine loves carrying his kid, holding him close to his chest whenever he does. “I think they're sinkin' in.”

“That's gonna make for some awkward repressed memories when he's older,” Darcy notes, fixing up a bottle with practiced speed, and handing it over to Logan on the bed. “Dad giving him pep-talks about sleeping through his parents' sexytimes...”

“I'll pay for the therapy,” Logan chuckles. Darcy crawls up next to him, watching her two fellas with a pleased, almost drunk-looking grin. They'd survived the day, and they had each other, and there was a pretty amazing little person waiting for them afterward... while Darcy doubts that this is what all those dumb fashion rags have in mind when they write articles about women “having it all”, she's pretty sure she fits into that category.

As if he could hear her mental meandering though, Logan's own smile fades, still looking down at James who, at around five months old, had his little hands contentedly curled around his bottle, head on his father's burly arm. A frown creases Logan's brow, and Darcy tilts her head on his shoulder, watching him, puzzling over the darkness passing through his eyes. “...All right there, big guy?” She finally asks, which seems to rouse him.

“Just...thinkin',” He rumbles, adjusting the baby on his arm.

“...About?” 

“All the things I weren't never supposed to have, cause the universe hated me.” Logan smirks, turning his head to look down at her, brushing back her hair with his free hand, “Pretty girl who wants to stick 'round. A kid. A home...”

“Which you've got, so, the universe can go fuck itself?” Darcy tries, and gets herself a chuckle in response. His eyes are still far-off, though, and she thinks she can guess why. “Hey. Don't start questioning it, hun.” She squeezes him, “I'm not.”

“Nah, s'not that,” Logan shakes his head, before letting out a long sigh, “S'all real, all steady, I know, just...” That frown again, even as he slides an arm around her, tugging her close to his side, “It's usually about this time that somethin' comes up, tries to mess things up...and there's a lot of good stuff to mess up this time around.” She didn't imagine the way his arm tightened around James, too.

“Self-fullfilling prophecy, is all,” At his questioning brow, Darcy just shrugs, “You were so sure you were gonna screw things up last time, -and- the time before, that you left. And things were awful without you.” She grins at him, and gets a sheepish one back. She nudges him, “Stuff's always gonna come our way. As long as you're here, long as it's both of us, and our many awesome associates, I've got faith we'll always be alright.”

“Mmm,” He kisses her, gently, and Darcy can feel his frame relax again, James gurgling from his arms, “Y'always know what to say, gorgeous...”

“Blame all that daytime television during maternity leave,” She murmurs back, “I am a walking tome of soap opera wisdom now.”

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It only took a little bit of asking around, for the young man to find Daisuke's family. He opts for the oldest of his grandsons first, as he lived the closest to the old man and apparently had sons who still worked the forge, according to neighbors. He also knew him once, long ago, when the man was a small boy. He spends what he can of the yen in his pocket on proper clothes for visiting, covering up his tattoos with a nice button-up shirt, and combing back his unruly mohawk as best he can.

He arrives at the doorstep of a fine home in Sapporo, schooling his features into what he hopes is an expression less harsh than his default. He knows he is not often pleasant to look on, even if it has been decades since he was out in the world. In fact, those solitary years can only have made his eyes rougher...

When the door opens, however, Daisuke's son, Hiraku, clearly remembers him from long ago.

“Akihiro!” The middle-aged man exclaims, scrubbing a hand over his face, going on in Japanese, “You look no different than when I was a boy...”

“I'm special, remember?” He smirks, “But Akihiro isn't my true name...”

“My grandfather would never call you by Daken, and so neither will I,” Hiraku motions him inside. After only a moment's hesitation, Daken bows and follows, slipping off his shoes and trailing the older-looking man inside.

It isn't until they're both sitting down to tea, that Daken voices his reasons for coming plainly, “I've been to the forge.” He says, quietly, and notes that Hiraku's hands still over the pot. Daken swallows the dread rising in his throat, “...He is dead, then.”

“He is,” Hiraku nods, “My sons will be taking over his forge this winter, I had not his gift...” Setting down the pot, the man winces, rubbing his forehead, “...You should know, Akihiro. My grandfather was killed. Murdered.” Daken looks up sharply, his eyes narrowing, and he knows it unsettles his host. Hell, some days Daken frightens himself when he looks in the mirror. And the word murder has a way of getting his feral blood up.

“Who.”

“I do not know,” Hiraku shakes his head, his hands shaking slightly. He's right to be afraid of what his guest might do with this knowledge, Daken thinks distantly. At the moment, his thoughts are far too caught up in the notion that someone has killed the one person whose shown him kindness in his life. The rage will come later, as it always does, but for now, all Daken tries to do is conjure the image of his old friend's face. He doesn't remember it as well as he wants to. “It was nn enemy of a man he was hosting, it seems, a man with many enemies in fact...I fear I must tell you something rather difficult, Akihiro. Something Daisuke had hoped to tell you himself, the very next time you came to visit him...”

“I was away for too long, I know...” Daken swallows hard, “It wasn't my choice.” Perhaps his wavering emotions put Hiraku back at his ease. Daken can sense the tension leaving the other man, as he pauses, gathering his own thoughts. 

“...When I was a boy, my grandfather took in a frightening young man as an apprentice,” Hiraku tells him, and Daken can't help but smirk, despite his sorrow. “He saw in you what many would not, with your mixed heritage, your angry spirit...”

“He was the best of men, to look past them.”

“Yes....but it was not by chance he took you in,” Another pause, and Daken looks at him sharply again, frowning, “Many years before, when he was a young man, and apprentice to a great sword-maker himself, and he was in love with his Master's daughter. He did not win her, of course...no, he lost her favor, to a white soldier, no less...a man who was also special.”

Daken presses his lips together hard, suddenly frozen where he sits, though his ears take in every hard word that follows, that old burn in his blood rising.

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End file.
